


in the silence

by epsiloneridani



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Meditation, brief mention of injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:15:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24327898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epsiloneridani/pseuds/epsiloneridani
Summary: Mace quirks a brow and stifles the smirk he can feel pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Calming your mind means you actually have to stop thinking at some point,” he says.Ponds snorts. “I’m not thinking, General,” he says without opening his eyes. “My mind is perfectly clear.”--Mace teaches Ponds to meditate. It's a rocky process.
Relationships: CC-6454 | Ponds & Mace Windu, No Romantic Relationship(s)
Comments: 38
Kudos: 208





	in the silence

“I don’t think you fully grasp the concept of meditation, Commander Ponds.”

Beside him, Ponds is seated cross-legged with his eyes pressed closed. His hands are folded in his lap. The observation deck is dim, but by the dappled hyperspace blue dancing across his face, Ponds is the picture of tranquility.

By all appearances.

Mace quirks a brow and stifles the smirk he can feel pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Calming your mind means you actually have to stop thinking at some point,” he says.

Ponds snorts. “I’m not thinking, General,” he says without opening his eyes. “My mind is perfectly clear.”

“Clearly focused on the next battle, you mean.”

Ponds takes a deep breath and scrunches his face up. His brows furrow. His mouth twists. The smirk tugs at Mace’s lips again.

“I’m trying,” Ponds says at last. “But I don’t understand how I can think of…nothing.”

“You’re not thinking of nothing,” Mace says. “You’re not thinking at all.”

Ponds’ eyes snap open. There’s a flicker of frustration in them. “But to think of not thinking I still have to think.”

Ponds is not an impatient man, but he, like so many of the soldiers Mace serves alongside, struggles when they’re in between engagements. Always forging ahead: the next drill, the next battle, the next day.

He wishes helping them was as simple as telling them to slow down.

“Meditation is about being in the moment,” Mace says. “Think of it as letting your mind lead you.”  
Ponds’ shoulders slump. “Sorry, General. I don’t think I’m going to get the hang of this right now. There’s too much to do.”

“We have to resupply before we’ll be assigned to another front. You have plenty of time.”

“I’ve been reviewing tactical data with Faie and Bly,” Ponds says, like he hasn’t heard him. “They’re preparing for another siege.”

“Commanders Faie and Bly are more than capable of preparing their own battle plans.”

“Another pair of eyes never hurts.”

“Perhaps,” Mace allows. “But at some point, you need to take time for your own recovery.”

“The Kaminoans engineered us to be resistant to any stress,” Ponds says.

It’s rote, like a recitation. Mace bites back a sigh. They’ve had this conversation before. Whenever the old war rears its head again, Mace wonders how many times Ponds must have had that lie drilled into him to say those words with such brazen confidence.

“You are not immune to battlefield stressors,” Mace says patiently.  
“Any stress, General,” Ponds repeats, unblinking.

Mace quirks a brow. “I notice you’ve allotted our men extra time to themselves,” he says. “Am I expected to believe you would have altered their training schedule without due cause? That’s not like you.”

Ponds fidgets and doesn’t answer.

Quietly, Mace has started calling it the Ponds Paradox. By his commander’s logic, all clones were built to have an inherent immunity to situations that would overwhelm a nonclone soldier; therefore, they don’t require any extra time away from their duties. Then, after the 91st concludes an engagement, Ponds demands his troops take a recovery period he himself refuses.

“Either all of you need to recover, or none of you do,” Mace says dryly. “You can’t have it both ways.”

“How many times are we going to have this discussion, General Windu?”

“As many times as it takes to convince you, Commander Ponds.”

Ponds pinches the bridge of his nose. “That’s why you want to teach me meditation,” he says.

“I thought it would help your mindfulness.”

Ponds stares at him for a long beat. “I’m all right, General,” he says at last.

“You once said that to me when half of your ribs had just been crushed by a gunship,” Mace says, “so you’ll have to forgive my skepticism.”

Ponds grins. “I was fine.”

“You and I have very different definitions of ‘fine’.”

“I lived,” Ponds shrugs. “That’s all that matters.”

“Yes,” Mace returns, “and if you want to keep living, you need to maintain your body and your mind. One depends on the other.”

Ponds blows out a long breath. “Noted, General,” he says shortly. Tension creeps up his spine and settles in his shoulders. His hands clench in his lap.

There’s a voice in the back of Mace’s mind that says they’re not going to get any farther with this exercise today. He presses it away. “Let’s try something a little different,” Mace says, and rests a hand on Ponds’ shoulder. “Close your eyes. Focus on my voice.”

Ponds’ jaw twitches, but he obliges.

“Think of something that made you happy,” Mace says. “Center your thoughts on it.”

There’s a sunburst of exasperation, rippling over Ponds like rain. Mace presses calm to him in a gentle wave. Some of the irritation slips away. The sets of Ponds’ jaw eases.

“Seeing my brothers,” Ponds says. A small smile curves his lips. “The last time I was on Coruscant, Gree and I pried Fox away from the Senate and took him to Seventy-Nine’s. Someone started a fight. Fox had to break it up. He was so mad.”

“Try to recall a little more quietly, Ponds.”

“What, like silently?”

“That would be ideal,” Mace says, and though Ponds’ eyes are shut, Mace knows he can hear the smile in his voice. “It will help you focus.”

“I think better out loud.”

“You’re not thinking. You’re centering yourself.”

“I have to think to do that, General,” Ponds says lightly. His voice is warm. “How else am I gonna recall anything?”

Mace squeezes his shoulder. “Focus,” he reminds, and closes his eyes too.

Ponds manages it for all of two minutes.

“What do you think about?” he asks. Mace cracks one eye open. Ponds is staring at him expectantly. “When you meditate, I mean.”

“It depends.”

“On your state of mind.”

Mace nods thoughtfully. Ponds waits. “Most of the time,” Mace says, “it’s the peace I once felt in the Temple.”

If Ponds noticed the tense shift, he doesn’t mention it. “Oh,” he says, and when Mace doesn’t elaborate, he closes his eyes again.

There’s peace in the silence. It’s a long time before Mace thinks to wonder why. When he finally looks, he has to stifle a laugh.

Ponds has fallen asleep.

\--


End file.
